


Spectre

by solikerez



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solikerez/pseuds/solikerez
Summary: There's always a spectre at the feast.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [getupandgo2011](https://archiveofourown.org/users/getupandgo2011/gifts).



> Happy birthday to the lovely [ getupandgo2011 ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/getupandgo2011),who is a wonderful person and writer and friend!

There's always a spectre at the feast.  
  
Amidst the deafening silence of the halls of Wayne Manor, a phone rings, clear and true and much too late to be considered socially acceptable. The silence stirs. There's a click of a door shutting softly down the hall, the _tap tap tap_ of shoes making a steady pace down the corridor, and the distinct, dignified clearing of the throat of Wayne Manor's beloved butler, Alfred Pennyworth. He lets the phone ring once more, and steels himself.

  
The manor is empty, and only one person would dare to call this late at night.  
  
"Alfred?"  
  
_It's Jason._  
  
"I must say, I'm quite surprised you called at all, considering how you've seemed to be avoiding the lot of us at all costs these days. Nevertheless, it's good to hear from you, Master Jason."  
  
"Nice to hear your voice too, Al. Even if you are subtly throwing me under the bus."  
  
"Oh, nothing of the sort," he tuts, tapping fingers against the table as lightning casts shadows through the windows of the home. He hears the crackle of a slow exhale through the phone. "Master Bruce has been worrying about you quite a bit, you know."  
  
"Fat lot of good that does me now, you know, after I've already been killed once. Would have been a lot nicer if he cared more before, when I needed it. But I've got my big boy pants on now, Alfred, resurrected, fully armed, and not in need of someone to worry about me. I can take care of myself."  
  
"Master Bruce cares about you, lad. We all do. He's just particularly inept when it comes to showing it."  
  
"If you say so."  
  
"I do say so indeed. Now, may I ask why you're calling at such an hour? It seems quite late for small talk."  
  
The line lays still for a moment, like a live wire hanging between them. It is Jason's voice that pulls them out of the silence.  
  
"I know it's Bruce's birthday tomorrow, and I know I've been gone, but-"  
  
"Would you like to join us for dinner, then? I know seeing would help to put his mind at rest."  
  
"I dunno, Alfred. Will he even _want_ me there?"  
  
Alfred rubs at his temple and sighs. How he'd managed to deal with the dramatics within this family over the years was nothing short of a miracle.  
  
"He will. Will you come to the dinner?"  
  
There's a moment of careful consideration before he hears a little quiet chuckle on the other end.  
  
"It depends. Will you be cooking?"  
  
"What are you implying, Master Jason?"  
  
"Oh, nothing, nothing. I _adore_ your cooking, Al. It's Tim you really should be worrying about. He thinks your waffles taste like paste."  
  
"Is that so? I'll make sure to add extra paste in his breakfast, then, next time I see him. But we will see you at dinner, then?"  
  
"I can't make any promises, Alfred."  
  
"As you wish. Just know, there is always a seat for you at this table, Master Jason."

  
“I’ll think about it. Night.”  
  
The line goes dead, the crackling buzz of it ringing in his ears, and Alfred allows himself to shake his head quietly as the the rain continues to patter on the windows.  
  
_Now_ , he thinks, _we wait_.

* * *

  
  
It's the three echoing knocks on the front door of the manor that cause knives to screech painfully across plates, chairs to be hastily pushed from the table, and heads to whip up from their food. A deathly quiet falls over the room, the empty seat an elephant in the room as Alfred wordlessly excuses himself to answer the door.  
  
There's a figure in the doorway worrying his fingers through wet hair, one white strand flopping pathetically onto his forehead.  
  
He's met with a solid brick wall of surprised silence.  
  
"Ah, what a warm welcome! No need to say hello all at once." He's got his jacket off in a moment and it hits the ground with a wet slap, much to Alfred's chagrin. "My bad, Al. I'll pick that up."  
  
It's Dick who speaks up first, leaning back in his chair as his quirks an eyebrow. "So the prodigal son returns, huh? Nice to see you back, Jason."  
  
"Thanks. It's good to be back. I see the gang's all here." A collection of gazes stare up at him, and Jason flashes a grin. "Hey Cass. Tim. _Mini Demon Spawn_."  
  
Damian rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it should hurt. It's almost impressive. "Well Todd, glad to see you didn't get any less irritating when you were gone."  
  
"Right back at you, kid. Where's Bruce?" Tim nods towards the entrance to the corridor. There's a palpable tension in the air as Bruce steps forward from the shadows, his clenched jaw set in a hard line. He would not betray a smile, not yet.  
  
" _Jason_. I didn't think you'd come."  
  
"Well, I think you'll find I'm full of surprises. And besides, it's like they said in that one play, right? There's always a spectre at the feast. I figured I fit the part pretty well."  
  
It's then that Bruce cracks, and he allows himself this one moment of release as he lets go of the worry he'd been feeling over the weeks that had passed without seeing Jason or knowing his whereabouts. It was a strange, cruel sort of torture, not knowing.  
  
"We've been trying to track you down _for weeks_ , where were you? You could have been-"  
  
"Oh, stuff it, big guy, I'm here, right? Alfred invited me."  
  
"Is that true?" He asks, creases etching their way into his brow as he turns toward Alfred, who grants him a small nod.  
  
"It is. I felt awful hiding it, but it was a surprise, after all."  
  
"See? No lies on my part," Jason says, holding his hands up in defense as he shrugs.  
  
Bruce sees it then, the glint in Jason's eyes that reminds him that this is really _Jason_ , back and standing right before his eyes once again, and there is no more not knowing. And so, in this moment, on his birthday of all days, Bruce Wayne allows himself the smallest crack of a grin.  
  
"Welcome home, Jason."


End file.
